Page 22 of Conrad

“Please, for crying out loud?—”

Jace smiled. “Fine. I get it—I used to not wash my socks the entire Stanley tournament.” He blew out a breath. “Still. You’re close to burning yourself out.” He walked around his desk. Picked up a bulky, oversized package and tossed it to Conrad.

“What’s this?”

“Congratulations. You’re the new assistant coach for the Northwest Ice Hawks.”

“The who? I’m what?” He opened the package. A jersey, a whistle, and a schedule. He pulled the gear out.

“EmPowerPlay has a team that’s going to the regional playoffs in a couple weeks. They need a coach. Someone who can help them win.”

“What? I’m not a coach.” He looked up. “Jace. Please?—”

Jace stood, arms folded, unmoving.

Aw . . .“Listen, you need me. The team needs me—even if I’m on the bench?—”

“We’re playing the Boise Blizzard. Trust me, we got this.” Jace leaned on the desk. “I’m going to be honest. I like you. A lot. You’re a Minnesota guy, a homegrown favorite, and I don’t want to see you go. But there’s talk about trading you.”

Shoot—he knew it. But still, the words landed like a blade in his heart.

“However, this game isn’t all about stats. Not when it comes to hometown love and ticket sales. Truth is, the crowd,ourcrowd, loves you. And if you can make them love you even more, the powers that be will think twice about trading you. At least midseason.” He stood up. “Like you said, you always seem to land the last forty days until playoffs. And there’s no doubt you’ve carried us through the last few years.” He folded his arms again. “I don’t want to lose you. So . . . work with me.”

And what was he going to say to that?

He sighed. “How many games am I out?”

“Just this weekend. And you just have to coach up to the tournament. Then call it good.” Jace gave him a smile. “It wouldn’t hurt if you won, either.”

“Right.” Conrad stood up. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s never in doubt.” Jace reached out to shake his hand.

Conrad met the grip, not sure why, despite his temporary banishment, the terrible fist had loosened in his chest.

“I think you’re safe.” Jace lifted his head, indicating the media room.

Conrad turned and saw that most of the reporters had left.

“Just pray you don’t end up on social media, clutching your towel. But way to take one for the team.” Coach grinned.

Conrad rolled his eyes. “If they haven’t seen enough of me. Next year, count me off the calendar.”

Jace laughed. “As the former, ahem,clothedcenterfold forHockey Today,I get ya. Hang in there. Think of the lives you’re saving.”

Conrad groaned and headed out the door and into the tunnel to the exit. The breath of the ice lingered, almost a challenge, but he ignored it, setting his bag over his shoulder.

But not before he heard laughter, words.

He turned, headed back down the tunnel to the ice.

One of the two swinging doors was still propped open, and as he stood at the entrance, he spotted Justin.

On the ice, his arms around Ava, teaching her how to shoot a puck.

She must have a good five years on him, but Justin didn’t seem to mind, his twenty-two-year-old brain clearly on sparks between them as she leaned into him.

Yeah, that was trouble waiting to happen.

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